


Sugar Songbird

by januarywren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Jon Snow, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jon Snow Knows Something, Lady Lives (ASoIaF), Light Angst, Loving Marriage, Minor Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Sansa Stark, POV Tywin Lannister, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Romance, Sansa Stark Deserves Better, Sansa Stark-centric, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 13,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: “I should like to bury something precious in every place where I've been happy and then, when I'm old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.”― Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited: The Sacred and Profane Memories of Captain Charles RyderMultiple pairings, independent chapter ratings, canon and AU, drips, and drabbles of words! :)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish & Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Robb Stark/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Willas Tyrell, Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, Tywin Lannister & Sansa Stark, Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 84
Kudos: 194





	1. Tywin x Sansa | Modern AU | T | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this Tumblr prompt: "...Tywin x Sansa, Modern AU please" 
> 
> I loved working on this, and hope that you enjoy it! Also, Honey Drips (with the same summary) is my Harry Potter themed drabble series, while this one is for Game of Thrones drabbles. 💗🎉

“Won’t you smile, Tywin?” Sansa asked, tapping his cheek with the end of her chopsticks.

“Why should I?” her husband replied, his brow raising.

To say that Tywin Lannister wasn't one for selfies was well – an understatement. Oh, Tywin wasn't old fashioned at all when it came to technology. He was one of the first to own a cell phone before they even flooded the market, and the Lannister Corporation was at the forefront of cutting-edge technology.

Sansa couldn’t remember a birthday that passed when one of his children hadn’t given him something ‘techy’, like the Apple watch Tyrion had given him, that was never off of his wrist, or the pair of blue-tooth earbuds that Cersei had sent him, shortly after their release.

But when it came to selfies –

“It’s undignified,” Tywin often said, though he never objected to taking photos of _her_. Their honeymoon was practically spent with Tywin behind the camera, while Sansa wore his favorite pieces of lingerie; resulting in a gilded photo book they kept in their bedroom.

There were other photobooks spread throughout their house for company to look through, ones filled with candid photos of her, and the trio of stray cats they’d adopted, Freud, Pavlov, and Piaget. (While his children were surprised at Tywin’s fondness for the scruffy kittens, Sansa wasn’t – she’d known on their first date that there was a softer side to the business tycoon than anyone ever knew.)

“I want a photo with you,” Sansa pouted, before resting her head against his shoulder. “Just _one_ selfie, I promise. Please?”

Her Instagram account was kept private, followed only by her family and the few close friends that she had. She regularly posted recipes that she’d made, as well as photos of Piaget, who was never far from her side. Tywin diligently hearted and commented on them all (along with Cersei, who’d formed a surprising friendship with her, shortly after she and Tywin had started dating.) but she rarely had a photo to post of them together.

“Sansa,” Tywin grumbled, though she knew by his tone he was folding. “Why?”

“Because,” Sansa nibbled on her bottom lip, watching her husband attentively. “I want to remember your expression when I tell you the news. _Our_ news.”

Her hand found his, as she guided it down to her stomach. She’d waited weeks to tell her husband the news, and found she couldn’t keep it to herself anymore, not when they were dining at the same sushi place, they’d had their first date at.

It was a hole in the wall place, one with few but loyal customers, and a chef who expressed love through his food. (Arya would have rolled her eyes had she known, Sansa thought. Her sister had always mocked her for being a hopeless romantic, something Arya couldn’t help but sneer at.)

He sharply inhaled, as his eyes met hers. “You’re – “

“Yes,” Sansa smiled then, as brilliantly as the sun. “I’m pregnant!”

He drew her close against him, kissing her as she deserved. She moaned against his lips, and her cheeks flushed pink at the sound. Tywin made her happier than anyone knew, and she hoped that he felt the same about her. Theirs was a whirlwind courtship, one that had taken both of their families by surprise.

(“ _Are you sure, darling? Tywin is a great deal older than you, and a widower_ …" her mother had said after Sansa shared the news about her relationship.) Sansa knew her family expected her to date someone like Robb's close friend, Theon, or someone like their cousin Jon. Neither had made her heartbeat fast nor had Jamie, after the first (and last) date that she'd gone on with him.

No, Tywin made her happy, and she felt safe with him, in ways that she never felt with another. They spent countless time in one another’s company and found their home life agreed with them. They kept away from the press and the countless, corporate dinner parties that Cersei and her husband loved. They lived a quiet life, an intimate life, one they both adored.

“I…” Tywin hesitated, a rare thing for him to do. “I never thought that I would be a father again after Joanna passed –“ 

Tywin rarely spoke of his first wife, one that he had loved beyond reason. He’d never expected to share his life with another after she passed, but two decades later, he found happiness again with Sansa. And now, they would have a child together, something they both cherished. 

“Gods,” Tywin whispered, “I love you.”

Sansa rubbed her cheek against his, the same as one of their cats would. “I love you too,” she whispered.

(They took a photo after, one that Sansa ended up framing next to their bed. The happiness in their expressions felt too intimate to share with other people, something Tywin whole-heartedly agreed with. For the Great Lion _was_ happy with his wife, happier than anyone knew…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	2. Theon x Sansa | Canon AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have a gooey soft spot for Theonsa?
> 
> ...Yes, I do. 💙
> 
> And for all of you - thank you for reading!

“Do you see how blue her eyes are?” Sansa asked, cradling their daughter against her breast.

Theon lay behind his wife, allowing her to rest against his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he hid a smile, as he kissed the top of her head. “Tully blue,” he murmured.

Both were enraptured with their daughter, named Catelyn after the mother that Sansa had so dearly loved. “She has your nose, I think,” Sansa said softly, and Theon felt his heart stutter inside his chest, "And your pretty curls." 

Neither of them, the Queen in the North nor her loyal Hand reflected on the night that that saw the creation of their daughter. Theon swallowed thickly, his eyes closing as memories came unbidden to him.

He was Reek then, and Sansa -

Sansa was Ramsay's wife and had suffered as no other woman had. Towards the end, Ramsay had delighted at forcing her to lie with the man she'd once considered a brother, the man that had betrayed her family and now knelt at the feet of her cruel master, her husband, who often laid with her too.

Ramsay had never gone through on his threat to castrate Reek, and Sansa had confessed that she was pregnant shortly after Ramsay’s death. Only they both knew the last time that she had laid with them both, and there was a possibility, a chance –

Of something that Sansa couldn’t ever consider, nor begin to accept -

“Theon?”

He blinked, immediately loosening his grip on his wife’s nightgown. She never knew a harsh word from him nor the cut of his hand. He cherished her beyond reason, the sight of the winter queen and her consort walking hand in hand, a frequent sight amidst Winterfell’s court. They often had private moments together, whether in their chambers or the sept, and none but Catelyn’s nurse would disturb them.

They both lavished love upon their daughter, as the halls of Winterfell came alive once more. Sansa was a natural as a mother, though she often had to reassure Theon when their daughter sneezed or fell when she attempted to toddle toward them, on her unsteady feet. She was the fruit of their love, the testament to the close relationship between them.

And there were nights still when Theon took Sansa gently in their bed, and she whispered in his ear that she dreamed of more children. She wanted a family once more; the rest of the Starks gone and buried, all but Jon who lived beyond the Wall, after the death of the Dragon Queen.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, glancing down at their daughter. She had the beginning of dark locks, ones as curly as his own, while she inherited her mother’s docile nature. “And she’s ours.”

Sansa nodded, and he knew that she was pleased.

Happy, even.

"I'll always keep her safe," he added, and Sansa tilted her head up toward him. She pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw as if she knew the direction of his thoughts. "No," she said lightly, yet as seriously and earnestly as if she was praying to the Stranger. “We _both_ will, my love. We’ll keep her safe, and never allow her to suffer as we have,” and Theon knew she spoke the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	3. Theon x Sansa | Canon AU | M | II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little scene that wouldn't leave me alone - I just had to write this!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and I hope that you and your friends/family are staying safe. Please wear a mask if you venture out, or if you're staying in, take some time to enjoy some fanfic! There's no better time for it! 🎉💕

"Up, Mama, up!" Catelyn cried, stretching her chubby arms out toward her mother.

Sansa smiled ruefully as she picked her up, remembering how she had once scolded Arya for not saying please, and thank you. As a young girl, Sansa followed her mother and her Septa's teachings faithfully and thought nothing mattered more than manners.

Now, she knew better.

She brushed her lips against her daughter’s temple, ignoring the memories that assaulted her. She wouldn’t allow her screams as her father’s head rolled, nor Joffrey’s laughter to come between her and her daughter. She would give little thought to how Ramsay delighted at her humiliation – her pain – nor how her empty courtesies and perfect posture had brought her nothing, but pain.

She would never run wild like her sister, nor have a spirit that was as free as Rickon’s once was. She would never accept the world as it was, like Bran, nor convince herself that her will was always right, as Robb had. She accepted her pain as she did her memories, knowing they were things she could never run from.

Tilting her head up, she looked to the sun.

It was the sun that was faithful and constant, whether she was in the North or King's Landing, or hiding in the Vale. The sun never changed, just as her love for Winterfell and its ghosts would never fade.

“My beautiful girls,” she heard a familiar voice soothe.

Theon wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head against her shoulder. “Catelyn grew bored of watching me write missives, even with Jasper there, I'm afraid. She made for the door before I could notice.”

Their toddler’s adoration of their raven came as a surprise, though they both were relieved to find something that kept her still. Now that she walked – or toddled as fast as she could, often grabbing on to anyone’s leg, they had to keep a constant eye on her. “Truly?” Sansa asked, her eyebrow raising.

“I wanted to see _you_ , mama,” Catelyn said, snuggling close against her.

"I'm glad," Sansa said softly, even as she knew that she would have to assign a young servant to personally accompany their daughter. She had an easy, affectionate nature that made all who saw her adore her, and the older servants often remarked that she reminded them of Sansa, as a young girl. Only Catelyn was beginning to develop a wildness that was reminiscent of Arya, as she squealed at toddling out into the snowy outdoors, to taste snowflakes on her tongue, and clapped her hands with delight, when she heard the direwolves howl at night. 

She was a child of the North and gods, Sansa wished for her to never leave.

“Are you finished here?” Theon asked, his eyes warm as he regarded the Godswood. He never prayed as his wife did, yet he knew the significance the place held for her.

“Trying to steal us away?” Sansa countered, her lips curving into a smile. “Have you become a Wilding now, husband?”

Theon felt his heart ache inside of his chest, as they acknowledged the one between them; the one who now lived beyond the Wall. The last Targaryen would never come home, not to the world that he had once known. John Snow was lost to them, though Theon knew Sansa had one of their men posted at the Wall, who alerted her of any news concerning her cousin.

“I may have asked Chef to make a batch of lemon cakes – I believe Alice just brought them to our chambers…” Theon replied, and he chuckled as Sansa moved to take his arm. She was free with her touch, regardless of the scars they both wore.

“How could I resist?” Sansa asked, and Catelyn clapped her pudgy hands together. She took after her mother with her love for lemon cakes, to the despair of her nurse, who often found a sugary powder covering her gowns. “Will you accompany us, and have a lemon cake, Theon?”

Theon regarded her for a single, solemn moment. "Of course," he murmured before he swallowed the tangled ball of emotions that rose in his throat.

There were moments when he marveled that he was there with his wife –

With Sansa –

And their child, as if it were a dream that he never wished to wake from.

If the moment came when he awoke and found himself Reek again, cowering in the shadows, he knew that he would run himself through with a sword – or if he came to as King of the Seven Kingdoms, and occupied the Iron throne. He had no ambitions, no sense of importance, beyond the humility of his love for Sansa, and the sense of wonder that she loved him in turn.

He was a man far beneath her, one that had betrayed her family and was regarded with hatred or disgust by those in the North. He was made less than a man by Ramsay, he was a simpering beast with a cruel master. Yet beside Sansa, he was the man that she loved, and the one that adored her.

He often marveled at the fact that she allowed him in her bed, and in her home when she could have done anything with him. She saw him as the person that he was; the foolish, brash boy that lost everything because of his smarting pride, his ill-sense of belonging – he was a man without inheritance, a man that his home wanted little to do with. His sister ruled in his stead, and he found that he was glad for it.

For there was only one place that he wanted to be, only one thing that he desired. He wanted to make Sansa happy, and feel himself become whole once more. 

He found that he wanted to please her – no – he wanted to be _enough_ for her.

More than enough.

There were times when he wanted to laugh – or rage – or cry at the boy that he once was, the arrogant boy that dreamed of marrying Sansa so he could be a Stark in truth. He was confident then, yet not, as he hated even Jon for having Stark in his blood. It was all that he wanted and all that he wished for, even as he laid with more whores than he could remember. It was a life of folly, a life of pretend, and it sickened Theon, the same as men with bile in their bellies, who visited the Maester.

It was nothing that he wanted now, nor was it then.

Theon knew what it was like to freeze and to burn, the phantom memory of pain making his fingers tremble, and his words die in his throat. It was Sansa who stitched him back together, using her hands, her mouth, her very heart to make him whole again.

She wanted him, she needed him –

No, she’d _chosen_ him.

And he knew, as Sansa hummed a sweet song, and grasped his hand in his, that he would spend the whole of his life living for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	4. Petyr x Sansa | Historically Inaccurate AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creepyship but this little plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone (😩!) There's something about the dynamic between Petyr and Sansa that intrigues me, though I think she would be happier with someone like Sandor, pol! Jon, Theon, etc. (Still...I have a soft spot for Petyr, as awful as he is in canon...) 
> 
> And as always, thank you so much for reading and supporting my work! It means the world to me, something that I repeat often, yet mean with all my heart. I hope that each and every one of you are are safe and well. 💕🎉

“Are you going to hide beneath my skirts for the whole evening, Petyr?” Sansa asked, a playful smile gracing her lips.

“Why would I wish to leave this place?” came her lover’s muffled reply, as he skimmed his fingers across her calf. He knew the effect he had on her, having taught her the very meaning of pleasure. She shivered at the feeling and felt his cool breath against her skin. “It’s the land of milk and honey, sweetling.”

Sansa drew her skirts upward, shamelessly revealing the man that hid beneath her skirts. “You’re a cad, not a heretic,” Sansa chided, though her tone was shamelessly amused.

No one made her laugh as Petyr could, nor make her heart race.

"Ah, ah," Petyr teased, as he turned his cheek to rest against her thigh. He had little reserve when it came to her, and Sansa knew that her Aunt Lysa would be sick with misery if she knew. She was the very reason that Petyr hid beneath her skirts after she'd suggested that he join her alone in her rooms.

“ _Please, Petyr_?" Lysa giggled as if she were a young girl again. She thought she could draw Petyr to her with sweet sighs and wide doe eyes as if she did anything but repel him.

Petyr couldn't disentangle himself from her and was forced to flee, to the maiden that was kept in her rooms. Sansa had giggled when Petyr begged her to help him –

“You know that I always honor my debts,” he’d whispered, and she’d allowed him to tuck himself beneath her petticoat. Lysa had come into her room but minutes later, and the ridiculousness of it all made Sansa endlessly amused.

If her aunt had treated her with kindness and not sheer hatred, Sansa would have sobbed with misery. Ever since the death of her family a decade prior, she was a ward of her aunt, a ward that was unloved and unwanted. She had nothing of her own, her childhood dog sent away, and her mother’s wedding rings taken from her, Lysa having the set melted down, and remade into a choker for herself.

Sansa was trotted out only for balls that Aunt Lysa knew that neither of them could miss, though she was returned to her rooms the moment it ended. It was a prison, one that Sansa had little wish to stay in.

“Aunt Lysa wants you for yourself, you know,” Sansa murmured, cradling his face in her hands. Few thought him handsome, yet she admired the curve of his lips, and the warmth in his gaze. He treated her as no other had, and no other ever would. “She truly believes you’ll marry her.”

Petyr nodded, his eyes meeting hers.

“I only want you, pet,” he said, the stark honesty in his voice making her cheeks flush. “When you reach your majority, I’ll take you away from here – sooner, if you wish.”

She shook her head, having little wish to change their plans. When she reached her nineteenth year the next month, her inheritance would be hers to control, and she had dreamed far too long of the look on her aunt's face when Lysa found herself cast from her home, and without control of her ward.

Sansa would give her nothing and hoped the woman would find herself unwanted and ignored by Society, without means to entertain the nobility that she adored. The titled and the vaulted were the ones her aunt courted, the only ones that she believed worth her attention.

It was a lesson that Sansa learned well, as she befriended the servants, and coaxed the Persian cat that Lysa had, into taking bits of meat from her fingers and liking to sleep in her bed more than not.

Lysa would have nothing, and Sansa would have _everything_ –

With Petyr by _her_ side, just as he’d promised.

Oh, Sansa knew that Lord Petyr wasn't a good man, something he'd admitted the first time they'd met when she'd snuck off to the library during a tedious garden party that her aunt threw.

Lysa had worked herself into a state during the months prior, as she admitted to her niece that a former flame had returned from abroad. “ _Lord Baelish and I were close as children. We were in love, and intended to make our vows when we came of age. If only father had agreed..._ ” Lysa confessed, though Sansa knew as soon as she saw him, that he loved only one Tully.

Her mother, who she was the spitting image of.

(“ _How will he react, do you think?_ ” she’d heard a servant ask another. “ _It was always Catelyn that he panted after, right under their father's nose..._ ”

She’d kept her breath steady with her shoulders back and her head held high, as she fled from the garden, and heard his steps behind her. She only had a single moment, a chance to free herself –

They were meant for each other.

(They had to be.)

He’d leaned against the oak door and smiled as if he knew everything that she intended. “ _Hiding, sweetling_?”

“ _Never_ ,” she’d said, holding up the slim book that she read, “ _I’m enjoying myself better than I would out there. My Aunt mistakes me for a lap dog, one that she feels she can treat as she pleases. I can hardly stand her presence, nor Lord Hardyng, whose quite lost in his cups._ ”

It was doubtful that her Aunt had ever been sane, as Sansa gleaned from the servants. Her Aunt had a stomach full of bile, one that twisted and thrashed with envy, and fury, though it was devoid of sorrow. She cared little for the sister that she’d lost, and nothing for her nieces and nephews.

As the only living one, Sansa bore the brunt of her feeling, something she’d discovered as soon as she’d darkened her aunt’s door. There was little warmth in her household, none of the familial feeling nor cheerfulness that once echoed throughout every corridor at Winterfell.

“ _A pity_ ,” Petyr had replied, “ _A treasure like you should have more than this place, and lecherous Hardyng pawing at you_.”

Sansa hadn’t shied away from his meaning, not as she heard her Aunt’s vulgar laughter from the gardens below. “ _Would you provide something better, Petyr_?”

“ _I would_ ,” Petyr acknowledged, “ _You’ll find that men with morals will always have their limits, whether real or imagined. I know what I am_.”

He wasn’t a good man, no –

He was a man who wanted everything and more, one that would take far more than he gave, with those he thought that he could use. He was dangerous and possessive and looked at Sansa as if thought she was whole. “ _I can afford to give you the world, without a single concern for my soul.”_

_“Or yours, Sansa.”_

It was the first, enchanting truth that he’d told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	5. Jon x Sansa | Canon AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *need* more fics where Sansa's lover gives her a pet, or where Lady never died...I've been reading so, so many jonsa fics lately but this is something that's rarely addressed (and my feelings can't take it!). 😥💙
> 
> And as always, thank you so much for reading - it means the world to me. 
> 
> Classes will start again next week, and this is my last year of college - I intend to keep updating my stories weekly, as well as working on original works for anthologies/contests. Your support is something I'm incredibly grateful for, and I love you all (!!)
> 
> I hope that you and your friends/family are safe, and well. 💙

“Are you happy, Sansa?”

Jon cursed himself as the question fell from his lips and rolled across the stone floor between them. It was a question that haunted him often, as he remembered the wild fear in her eyes, and how she would jolt at the slightest noise for months, after reclaiming their home.

Sansa was silent as she played with the puppy in her lap, the latest gift from Jon. He found that he wanted to make her smile, and often sent her things he thought would please her; a platter of lemon cakes, fine bolts of fabric for a new dress, and had even sent for a pair of singing birds that could withstand the bitter winters of the North. When they welcomed a traveling bard, Jon invited the man to stay, after his song of Tyrion and his new marriage made Sansa laugh, as sweetly as if she were a girl again.

Yet Jon wanted more –

He always wanted more when it came to Sansa.

She was his cousin, his lover, and his friend, as no one else had ever been. She had bled for the North and was tortured in its name, and Jon felt the lingering scars she endured, the same as if they were carved into his own skin. He wanted to give her the world, even though he knew she wished only for the North, and the safety of their home.

Jon was careless of his furred robe as he knelt beside his wife and watched as the cream-colored puppy thumped its tail against her knee, and made small, shrill noises of excitement. It was more energetic than Lady had been, though Jon stilled his tongue.

He knew how his wife missed her dire wolf, desperately so.

Sansa had named the squirming pup ‘Grace,’ and stroked her furry ears, while the puppy chewed on her long sleeve. Jon’s lips curved into a smile at the sight, knowing that his wife would train the dog well. Lady had carried herself impeccably, never dashing through the halls and howling, as the other dire wolves did. She had lived up to her name, as Jon thought Grace would.

His wife drew the world and its creatures to her, regardless of whether they walked on two feet or four. Jon felt his heart ache at this thought, as he wondered – not for the first time – what would have happened, had the world known his true legacy from the beginning.

Would Catelyn Stark have taken to him? Surely, she would have accepted him into the very halls of Winterfell, without bitterness in her heart. The very sight of his dark eyes and curls wouldn’t have made her imagine her husband laying with another woman, no.

Would Arya still have been his favorite? She was like a sister to him, and always had been even the day that she'd kissed his cheek as it bled from their swordplay. Would he consider Robb and Bran and Rickon his brothers still? Jon knew with every fiber of his being that he would have always considered Robb as his brother; the son of the North, while he was a child of the South. They would have fought together, traded, and remained loyal to one another; seeing prosperity grace King's Landing and Winterfell alike.

And Sansa –

Jon swallowed at the thought of her as she had once been; a beautiful girl on the eve of blooming, one who was as lovely as the maidens immortalized in stories and songs, while her devotion would have laid entirely in his hands. He never forgot the sight of her with flushed cheeks and her sweet laughter, as she danced with a young lord, and excelled at running Winterfell, alongside her mother. He remembered her dreams, for she’d often said that she wanted to marry a prince and bear his children, and how she believed life was a song.

And as Jon remembered, he knew that he would always love Sansa, regardless of what his name was, or his place. He would have loved her in ways that he had never loved Arya, in a softer, sweeter form that bound him to her, even if that meant kneeling at her feet. It wasn’t a love that siblings bore for another; it was something twisted and pulsing inside of him, as he ached for the very essence of her.

Atop their bed, Ghost watched the scene with half-open eyes.

"After Joffrey and father," Sansa hesitated for a moment, before holding her head high. They knew countless the names between them, the ones they had lost, and the ones they had never wished to be part of their lives, "after the Boltons, I never thought I would be happy again."

Sansa’s gaze met his, Tully blue meeting violet.

“Safe, yes, as long as I was with you,” Sansa said, and Jon recalled how she’d thrown herself into his arms at Castle Black. She’d clung to him, the same as he’d pressed himself against her as if their hearts could forge into one. “I felt whole with you. Alive.”

Not even the Dragon Queen, the Mad Queen, had been able to tear them apart. “But happiness,” Sansa’s lips curved into a small, rueful smile. “I knew more than to wish for it.”

It had been ripped from her arms, like a squalling, newborn babe too many times.

"You're my equal," Jon murmured, the crown that rested upon his dark curls nothing if his wife wasn't beside him. They had married in the Godswood the night before he left to fight the Night King, the same night that his seed had taken root inside her. "I'll never let you feel powerless again."

"I know," Sansa said, leaning forward to press a kiss upon his cheek. "I trust you, Jon, as I've never trusted anyone before. Still I…I never asked to be happy, nor whole," he stilled as she spoke, his heart aching for her.

How he wanted everything for her –

"Yet I am," she said as if she were a shy and hesitating girl once again. "I feel safe and happy, and utterly _whole_ with you, Jon, and our family.”

_Gods_ –

“That’s all that I want for you,” Jon said, the lie as sweet as honey on his lips. He wished that she would ask him for the world, for he would give it to her; or its very ashes, if she wished.

Winterfell was only the start.

There were little words between them then, as Jon found himself with a lap full of Sansa, and Grace clambering over them. He buried his face against his wife’s fire kissed hair, and breathed in the gentle scent of her, roses and jasmine entwined.

They were there in her parent’s rooms, ones that had been reclaimed for them; and where they often stayed. There were Starks in Winterfell once more, with the ghosts of those they once knew surrounding them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
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> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
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> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
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> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	6. Theon x Sansa | Canon AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow me on Tumblr (@Januarywren) I posted on Sunday night that I had/have a concussion - I fell while putting away groceries, and got pretty banged up. One hospital trip later and I have a concussion, though I'm thankful I didn't break anything or have internal bleeding/swelling. 🙏💕
> 
> I've been taking it easy, and resting my eyes a lot - I start my last year of university next week, and go online. I have to feel better by then, though I couldn't resist writing this little theonsa drabble! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you're doing well (also if you spill anything on the floor, make *sure* it's dry - slipping on tile hurts like heck!!) 😣💗

"Stay still," Sansa said, her fingers warm where they brushed against his skin.

"As you wish," Theon murmured, following her will. He always would, his loyalty hers the very night that he'd been forced to watch Bolton desecrate her.

Their routine is familiar and safe, as Sansa dresses him in their chambers, without another soul near. They both have their shame and their scars; things they will never let another see.

Only Sansa knows him completely, just as the reverse is true; no matter what Bran or Arya or even Jon consider truthful about him.

( _'They know nothing_ ,' Theon thinks, flames of jealousy flaring inside him, for he isn't a Stark - no, he will never be one, not in truth.

But he had something more, he has something true, as he remembers the vows that he shared with Sansa.)

"There," she paused after fixing the Stark sigil to his chest. Her eyes rose to meet his, as blue and bright as the skies above.

She never hesitated when she was near him, as others did. There was no glimmer of distrust in her gaze nor fury in her manner, as she kept him by her side without regret.

"Who are you?"

It was the question she asked daily, the one that Theon had long learned the answer to. The words were familiar as if they were etched into his soul.

Perhaps they were.

"I am Theon Greyjoy," he said without falter. "Your Husband. Lover. Friend."

And her protector, though the North had learned their Queen was a wolf with sharp claws and bared canines.

Theon knew it too.

Sansa stood on the tips of her toes and rested her temple against his. "You're everything to me," she said, her words a balm to his withered soul. "Everything, my love."

He drew his arms around her slim waist and kissed the tip of her nose. "As you are to me," he replied.

She was his purpose, the very reason that he breathed, as Theon knew he would have never lived once more without her.

She had cast off the mantle of shame that he bore on his shoulders, and made his soul thrive. "You're mine," she'd whispered in his ear, and he found his dreams buried inside her, and dripping between her thighs.

In her arms, the creature named Reek died, and Theon Greyjoy lived once more.

And he knew, with all his heart and his soul, that he lived for Sansa, his Queen, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. Petyr & Sansa | Hogwarts AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I'm not a fan of crossover stories - the inspiration for this came out of nowhere, and I surprised myself writing it. 😯 
> 
> There's other tropes/themes that I'm not a fan of that I've written (like adultery in 'Sweet Red') but it's exciting to branch out of my comfort zone, and work with new themes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my work, and leaving such sweet comments. You're all more than I could ask for, and I feel so grateful everyday. It's such a rush sharing my work, and knowing that it's actually read! 
> 
> And as always, I hope that all of you stay safe and well. If you ever need someone to talk to, please feel free to reach out to me via Tumblr or Discord. I'm here for you! 💓

He hadn't expected her to follow him into the Restricted Section, without a soul near.

He hadn't expected her to notice him at all.

Not yet.

He leaned against the bookshelf, with his attention solely drawn to the bold Gryffindor.

_Sansa_.

"It's past curfew," Petyr observed, without moving to deduct House points from her. "Aren't you afraid to be out of bed at this hour, Miss Stark?"

Sansa tucked a pretty, red curl behind her ear. "Shouldn't you, Professor?" she countered as if she weren't a student and he wasn't one of Hogwart's professors, but equals.

As if they weren't exactly where they shouldn't be, with tomes filled with hideous words and entrancing secrets surrounding them both.

(Idly, Petyr thought what a sight they made. It would have broken her parents' hearts to see her stepping closer to him as if he were as trustful as Varys, Hogwarts’s Headmaster...)

"You're like a rabbit," Petyr observed, his lips twitching at her indignant look. She wore her emotions proudly, while his kind learned as newborns to tuck their thoughts and feelings away. "A young kit tripping over its long ears that fears nothing - yet has everything to fear."

Sansa raised her head, the proud girl that she was. He' would have known whose she was from the tilt of her chin and the purse of her pink lips alone, to say nothing of her fire-kissed hair and bright, blue eyes.

She was the very picture of her mother, the girl he had once loved beyond reason. She was Catelyn and she was not, for the blood of the Starks ran in her veins. She was the best of her mother and the worst of her father.

"I'm a wolf, Professor, the same as my mother was."

He chuckled at the verbal strike of her paws.

There wasn't a soul that dwelled within Hogwarts that didn't know of the scar that ran down his chest, no matter how fine his robes were. Beneath them, his fair skin was marred and violet stained.

Every scar and every bruise was a reminder of who he had lost and what he had gained, for Petyr never believed in love again, after that horrid day.

Life was not a song, and if Petyr was truthful, it had never been. The very halls of Hogwarts dripped with pain, and its ghosts howled as they relived the worst of their days, for not even magic could take it away.

"You're prettier than Catelyn ever was," Petyr murmured, his canines flashing as mistrust and pleasure tangled across her expression. "It must be hard to live in her shadow, no? Did the Hat tell you that you would make a fine Gryffindor, the same as your mother was?"

Catelyn was Varys’s favorite lion cub, a prefect even before she came of age, and Head Girl in her last year. She could have easily become the Head of Gryffindor, if she hadn’t allowed Ned Stark to whisk her away, and pour his seed within her. What crude tastes she had –

Unlike her daughter.

He leaned into her personal space, both of them aware of how she stiffened. "Imagine if you were sorted into Hufflepuff," Petyr whispered, knowing how the Starks clung to their red and gold colors, as if Gryffindor was the only House that mattered.

The Stark children were more constrained than any other family, regardless of how Ned prattled their loyalty and happiness. They were a family as long as they fit into their places and played the roles assigned to them.

If one broke free, like young Theon Greyjoy, the Stark's ward who was sorted into Slytherin -

Well.

They all knew what happened, as Petyr had personally read the letter that Ned sent, demanding that Theon be resorted. (He wore the green and silver colors still, the same as Petyr did.)

Pleased that Sansa gave little sign of fearing him, Petyr's hand settled on her shoulder. "Be careful of the games that you play here," he said lightly, "You'll find that few will stay true to their word, sweetling. Loyalty means nothing here."

And she says the exact words he knew she would say, as of she were a character in a play. "You're wrong, Professor," Sansa met his stark gaze. "Loyalty is everything to Gryffindors, the same as courage is."

What a terrible world his sweetling would soon discover.

Petyr hid his smile as his hand slipped from her shoulder. "I can only hope that you're right," he murmured, knowing there would come a day when she found her way to his rooms and showed him her tears.

For there was nothing beautiful in their world but what they made, there was no trust nor love. Life was not a song, no, it never was.

It was only a series of never ending games, ones that he would teach her to master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
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> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
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> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	8. Jon & Sansa/Theon | Canon AU | M | II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints of jonsa with heaps of theonsa...🤍
> 
> Jon is a very jealous man, who should have never left Sansa behind. (Though is that so wrong, when Theon was there for Sansa instead??) 
> 
> This was only supposed to be a couple of hundred words, but it got away from me - Sansa deserves a happier story in canon, and I like writing stories giving her one. 🤭💘 Thank you for reading, I'd love to know your thoughts!

The sound of familiar laughter made Jon's stomach roll, as he shoved his plate from him. He had no interest in the feast, nor the Northern women that twittered and passed by him. There was only one that he wanted to take in hand, one that he wanted to whisper and laugh with and wipe sugary powder from her cheeks.

_Sansa_ –

Who hasn't looked at him once, let alone twice.

Jon had little interest in talking to the lords that surrounded him, nor did he wish to think of the coming war. There were moments when he could pretend that Cersei had no influence, and Daenerys no place in their world. There were moments still when he imagined that the White Walkers had never existed at all, leaving him to stay by Sansa's side.

He wanted to kneel at her feet and give her everything the Boltons and the Lannisters had taken from her and rest the crown on her head. He wanted her to have everything and never feel as if she had nothing again.

He wanted her to feel safe, and sound.

There was a time when Jon had concerned himself only with his sister turned cousin; the only woman to fill his heart with courage and show him the value of honeyed words. He never imagined he would be in the same room yet be far from her as if she had wandered far past the Wall. She hadn't called for him nor opened her rooms to him, as she had in the beginning; no, it was like there was never intimacy between them at all.

Jon felt his heart quicken at the thought of how she'd accepted him as a Stark, regardless of his true blood. It was the acceptance that Catelyn had denied him, and he felt free from the shame of illegitimacy and having no place in Winterfell. Sansa accepted him, welcomed him even - where had it all gone wrong?

Arya slammed her tankard beside his, ale sloshing over the brim.

“Arya!” Jon barked.

For once he had little patience for his favorite sister –

His _only_ sister, a voice that he knew well, whispered. It was a voice that he feared, the voice of the flames that tumbled and leaped inside him. “That face you’re making reminds me of a horse’s arse,” Arya said loudly, thinking little of the glances they received from the lords around them.

The halls of Winterfell were home to the Starks again, as Jon and Arya saw their troops return to their homes, after the death of the Night King. Theon had stayed behind, guarding Sansa and the rest of the women and children that stayed at Winterfell.

Jon and Arya had stumbled into the courtyard with blood on their furs, and the stench of war around them. They were hungry and cold, like the men that followed behind them, yet they were safe and sound once more. Sansa had received them with open arms once more, with Theon, of all people, beside her.

A man that Jon knew the same as his own name and distrusted the same.

“Theon,” Jon said, his lips curling about the name. It was one that he wished he never had to say again, regardless of how the man had begged forgiveness for his sins.

His betrayal, to all of them.

“When did this happen?” he asked his sister, nodding toward the high table where Sansa resided. Theon was beside her, with his dark curls tamed and gaze meeting hers. They were as close as they could be, without Sansa sitting in his lap, and his arms wrapped around her. Theon bowed his head when Sansa whispered something into his ear, and Jon flinched at the sheer intimacy between them.

They made a pretty picture, one that taunted and tugged at his insides. 

It’d taken mere days for Jon to observe firsthand how Theon clung to his queen's skirts, following her through every hall and room as if he were a Stark in truth. He was Greyjoy, one that had been given away without promise of future kingship.

He wasn’t fit to sit at her table, he had little place residing within Winterfell’s walls.

Jon gritted his teeth, as he felt Sansa's gaze flit to his before she looked away. Nothing was the same between them after the Dragon Queen had entered their lives.

His aunt –

Jon was torn between laughter and despair, as an anguished cry rose in his throat. He felt an ache in his chest when he observed Sansa, and how she’d closed herself away from him. If things had stayed as they were before, Jon would have remained at her side.

At the head of the table, with her hand clasped in his beneath the table.

“He makes her happy,” Arya said, addressing his earlier question. She pursed her lips as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and holding her head in her hands.

She had never been close with her elder sister, yet upon their return to Winterfell, Arya felt herself wanting to know Sansa as she never had before. (And Gendry’s suggestion that she should had nothing to do with it. _Nothing_.)

“I don’t understand it myself, but Sansa…Sansa isn’t like us, you know. She needs someone with her.”

“Doesn’t she have Brienne?” Jon replied, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. He had little desire to look inside himself and ask why he loathed the sight of Theon beside Sansa, or why he dreamed of her at night. He didn’t want to think about how he’d traced the shape of her lips with his tongue, or how silky her fire-kissed hair felt against his skin.

They had only a handful of nights together, yet it meant more to Jon than any other he had known. That he had loved. He swallowed at the thought, and drank from his tankard, ignoring the burn in his throat. 

There were countless things he longed not to remember, nor to forget.

“It isn’t the same,” Arya said, “Brienne is nothing like Theon, and you know that, Jon,” she muttered beneath her breath. She couldn’t help but think her brother had spent too much time with the Dragon Queen, with his brain shriveling inside him.

And Jon found himself nodding, with the bile inside him mounting. “Aye,” he acknowledged, forcing the words from his lips, “I do.”

(By the Gods, he didn't wish to.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
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	9. Jon & Sansa/Petyr | Modern AU | T | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr prompt from anon: "...Would you consider writing a modern AU with them where Petyr brags about dating Sansa on his social media? Cause I could totally see him do that..." 💙
> 
> Thank you for trusting me with your idea! I had fun writing this, and tried to write it from Tyrion or Petyr's POV before settling on jealous!Jon. I love jonsa but Jon can be such an idiot at times, _especially_ when it comes to Sansa. Petyr wouldn't make the same mistakes, at least in this AU. :) 
> 
> And thank you to anyone reading this, I hope that you enjoy my drabble/s! I love reading your comments, and truly appreciate all of your support. Stay safe and remember to clean/replace your masks! 🎉💙

Jon didn’t brood.

Nor did he sulk.

He knew he was doing both as he scowled at his phone, and the content splashed across the screen. It was only Dany’s e-mail to him, suggesting that he look at Baelish’s page that made him curious in the first place –

He gritted his teeth as he scrolled through the Instagram page, one that was filled with pictures of _her_.

And Petyr.

(Together.)

How had it happened? _Why_ had it happened?

Every photo that he clicked on made his chest ache, as he saw how happy Sansa was. She was prettier than her mother, her blue eyes filled with mischief, and her smile without a trace of pretend. There were videos too, one where Sansa laughed as her dalmatian puppy, Lady, licked her cheek, and another where she and Petyr hung ornaments together. None of it seemed false or overdone; Petyr’s descriptions as brief as they were attentive toward his – toward Sansa.

And her page was the same, pictures of Petyr intermingled with re-blogs of things that reflected her interests, her elegant tastes, colorful macaroons, classical statues, and countless photos of Lady. There was a date on her profile, one that he assumed was when they started dating, with a heart after it.

Jon didn’t want to know; he didn’t want to _see_ how happy she was –

Not when Sansa wasn’t with him.

They had once been close, closer than anyone save Dany knew.

Jon swallowed at that, as he remembered the last time he’d spoken to Sansa.

“ _She just… she understands what I’m going through, Sansa_ ,” he’d told her, after their group study session. “ _I’ll talk to her_ – “

It was a disaster, with Dany holding his hand under the table and whispering answers into his ear. She had claimed him, and they all knew it.

Especially Sansa.

“ _Don’t, Jon_.” She’d said, her tone colder than it had ever been.

Whatever was between them had fizzled and collapsed, with Sansa dropping their shared class, and keeping her distance from him on campus. She'd never said a word to her siblings, ones that he considered their own, nor to her parents. Jon couldn't stomach the idea of Ned's disappointment and had nearly skipped Thanksgiving dinner until Sansa had texted that he was welcome to come.

‘ _You’re apart of our family, Jon_.’

(He’d arrived an hour late, with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and a store-bought pumpkin pie in the other. Ghost had followed him in, and Dany – he'd left her behind for the holiday. He found that he couldn’t take his eyes off Sansa, as much as he laughed at Rickon’s antics, and played Halo after dinner, with Arya and Theon and Robb, as if nothing had changed at all.)

Everything had changed, regardless of what Jon thought. He knew that as much as he realized he’d known nothing before, when Sansa had smiled at him, and never turned to walk the other way, avoiding him. He tossed his phone aside, after reading Petyr’s caption for a selfie of Sansa: ‘ _my Queen_.’

And Sansa’s comment –

‘ _My love_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
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	10. Theon/Sansa | Forced Marriage AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the forced marriage refers to Jon and Sansa, though this drabble focuses primarily on Theon and Sansa. 
> 
> I was inspired to write something from Jon's POV, but nothing sounded right when I started writing. Then I changed it to Theon (and Sansa's) POV and it started to come together. 🤍
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'd love to add some more chapters centered around this AU - I have some ideas in mind, and I'd love to see them through, when I have time. There's so much potential with Jon x Sansa and Theon x Sansa. 🐳💙
> 
> And as always, thank you so much for reading! It means everything to me, and I always look forward to sharing something new with you all. 🤍💙

They were children again, as they lay side by side, with his arms crossed behind his head, and hers entwined and resting on her chest. Theon knew it was no small measure of her trust, that Sansa had accompanied him to the godswood, while the rest of Winterfell lay asleep in their beds. There was little cold that seeped into their bones, their furred cloaks pulled tight about them. 

“Do you believe in the gods still?”

The words flew from his lips as if they were birds, ones that were free from their cages.

Sansa’s tresses fanned beneath her, making the prettiest picture that he could remember seeing. “I do,” she whispered, glancing toward him.

‘They brought me you,’ Sansa thought, without saying a word.

There were things she couldn’t admit, not to Theon nor anyone else. She was the Lady of Winterfell, one betrothed to a man she would never trust as much as the man beside her. She found peace with Theon, in a way that was different from the confidence she felt with Brienne and Clegane behind her.

“Though I don’t trust them, not anymore,” she admitted.

Her Septa would have warned her not to speak of the gods so as if she were betraying the whole of her line by doing so. The Starks had held the gods close, and so had she, once. Where was her Septa? Her father? Sansa shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside. 

She had little need to elaborate, and Theon covered her hands with his.

He was the only one that she allowed to touch her, whether in the warmth of her chambers or when they watched the Northern troops gather. There was a world that spun around them, a world that had forgotten about them when they were nothing more than Bolton's –

Tautly, Sansa swallowed.

They were once nothing more than Bolton's pleasure, their bodies subject to his will, and they had scars that would never heal. She had only one attendant; a plain-faced girl with gentle hands, and a shy smile that reminded her of her childhood friend, Jeyne.

And Theon had no attendant of his own.

There was no one that he would allow near but Sansa, nor one that he would trust. He was a wounded animal still, a man that had forgotten the cocky boy that once lived inside him. Only when he was near Sansa, did he feel anything close to whole.

“The Greyjoys listen to the water,” Theon said, without softening as his Lady often did, when she mentioned her family. Winterfell was her home in a way that the Iron Islands had never been his. “To the roughest seas and the deepest of oceans, the Greyjoys listen to the call of the water, and let it guide them.”

“The Kraken,” Sansa said, “the drowned god.”

Of all people, Sansa knew every notable lineage and their history. The Septa had praised her memory, one that always flared brightly in comparison to her sister, Arya. Sansa remembered how she would blush with pleasure when their Septa praised her quickness when it came to remembering a face or a figure, and the crucial things about them. Their name, their connections, and who they bent the knee to.

_Especially_ who they bent the knee to.

Yet Theon made their beliefs come alive, as he moved slowly – slower than anyone else would have dared – to rest his head against her shoulder. “I never heard it,” he murmured. “I never heard the roar that my sister did, nor did I feel the call as some of the ironborn do.”

He sighed a quiet, rueful sound.

“I only looked up, never down,” he said, his dark curls tickling her chin. He was soft and warm and yielding when she wanted him to be, yet never faltered when remaining at her side. He was hers in a way that no one had ever been, not Joffrey or Tyrion, or the other horrors that dwelled under her bed. No one wanted her for herself, as she knew others saw her only for her title. Her home. “I made wishes on the stars, no matter where I was. Or how old.”

Sansa tilted her head up, looking past the sacred trees to the stars above. “Do you still?”

“I want to,” Theon said, his voice earnest, “with you. If you’d like to.”

She never asked why, not after her father, her mother, her brothers that she loved beyond reason, and the one she trusted most of all wasn’t her brother at all. She shied away from his name, the three letters clinging to her tongue. She wouldn’t say his name, nor the one the Dragon Queen called him by.

_No_.

She wouldn’t think of him; her cousin – her betrothed – and the one who’d given away the North to his aunt. She wouldn’t think of Jon, and how little he knew, and how he tore apart what he _did_ know.

Even if he’d gotten back, and played the game, she hated him in a way that she never had Petyr or Cersei or Ramsay. Or Daenerys. No, Sansa thought, there were many reasons why she never asked ‘why?’.

If she did, she would never stop.

"I'd like that," Sansa said instead, the words sweet on her tongue. She didn't 'chirp' anymore, not as she once had before the Hound and the southern court. She said what she needed and what she wanted to Theon when they held the world at bay.

Brushing his lips against her jaw, Theon made a soft sound, the same as when he held her in his arms after a night terror, or when she clasped her hand with his when he escorted her to her rooms. Somehow, they found private moments with each other, regardless of who was around them.

Theon didn’t ask her to close her eyes, knowing that neither of them would. They were too distrustful of the world then, the scars littered across their skin a stark reminder of what happened when they did. Their grief didn’t touch them then, as they both looked to the stars, with a wish forming on their lips.

‘Let her wish come true,’ Theon thought, ‘Let all of them come true.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
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> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
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> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	11. Jon | Canon AU | T | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I think I'm going to write something longer than a drabble, I -
> 
> I wrote this canon (AU...kind of? It *could* be canon, if there were feelings between Jon and Sansa since the beginning). I have my own thoughts/feelings about it, but take this drabble as you will.
> 
> And thank you for reading, I truly appreciate it! 🦢💙

There were few sounds that he favored.

The mournful cry of Ghost, when the nights were long, and the winter wind was terrible and cold. Man and beast alike remembered all they had left behind and everyone.

They lived and they died beneath the same sky.

The crackle of a roaring fire in the hearth lulled him to sleep, while the cries of birds greeted him in the morning. There were a handful of birds that lived at the Wall, regardless of how the cold leaped and snapped at them with its mighty jaws.

There were times when Jon leaned his head back and watched as birds flew overhead, some with feathers as dark as coal, while others were colored as white as snow. When all he knew were wild souls and the ones that walked without ever finding peaceful slumber, he often wondered if the birds lived there to taunt them. They were free in ways that those sent to the Wall would never be.

Jon stilled as he watched a boy aim for a bird with his bow and released his crudely made arrow. The bird cried and fell from the skies, and Jon knew that it would be present at that night’s dinner. Plucked and roasted, the bird would crunch between their teeth, yet its soul would return to the skies.

And where would he be?

His men?

They would remain tied to the frozen ground still. A prison of their own making.

And as Jon remembered his favorite sound, he knew exactly why he was tied to the Wall. For his favorite sound was that of his half-sister’s laugh, his beautiful, and sweet sister, who he loved far more than Arya or Brandon or Rickon. Or Robb and Theon.

“Sansa,” he murmured softly.

She was the closest to Robb, his brother having claimed her at her birth as his. It was his hand that she'd grasped when she learned to walk, and his arms that she sought when Arya pulled at her hair or was scolded by their Septa. Yet for a handful of nights, she had belonged to Jon.

It was his comfort that she sought when she slipped from her bed, and into his when she cried from a nightmare. Robb had taken ill with fever, and she’d confessed her fear of him passing. Jon remembered the feel of her in his arms still, as she’d nestled herself against him and he whispered the kind of story that she loved. One of a knight and his queen, and the loyal wolf that followed them –

Cradling her trust close to his heart, it was then that Jon learned how he adored Sansa's laughter and her lips that brushed against his collar. It was a chaste love; a brother comforting his sister, something that only Catelyn Stark would have had him whipped for, had she discovered them.

Only she hadn’t, and Jon learned how much he revered the sounds that Sansa made.

(How he wished she was there beside him - ) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
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> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	12. Sansa/Jamie | Canon AU | T | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'As the dream faded, she chased it, forlorn...'
> 
> I'm feeling bad but I don't want to run into writer's block again - writing little pieces/drabbles like this makes me glad to be able to share them with all of you. 🤍🦕
> 
> Thank you for the kind words on my personal update, they all meant a lot to me. I was tested for covid today (I've been very sick the past five days) and we're all concerned about it. 
> 
> Most of you know that my dad was in the ICU for almost the whole month of April (from covid) and he can't be exposed to it again. If I am positive, we're not sure what we'll do. 🙏
> 
> Stay safe everyone, and if you wear fabric masks, remember to wash them! It's amazing how filthy they can get - we wash ours by hand once a week and leave them to dry for a couple of hours.

“ _Sansa_!” her siblings called, “ _Come, play in the springs with us_ – “

As the dream faded, she chased it, forlorn as it slipped through her fingers.

Sansa shivered beneath her cotton nightgown, her arms wrapping around her middle. She was colder in the South than she had ever been in the North, a chill that she couldn’t shake.

“Sansa?”

Her husband stirred beside her; his voice rough from sleep. 

She kept herself still as his hand touched her shoulder. Jaime wasn’t like his son, the golden-haired prince that with a stomach full of bile and a heart made ash. She knew that – she did.

Only her body didn’t.

Sansa kept her face away from her husband as she shuddered, unable to repress the fear that filled her. Jaime had kissed every scar that littered her skin, whispering sweet nothings into them –

_“You’re beautiful, wife – “_

Sansa swallowed tautly. Her limbs felt as if they weren’t her own, spasming the same as when the Kingsguard beat her. Jaime had raged at Cersei and Joffrey for it, stopping only at bloodshed when Tywin came between them.

It was a memory that Sansa cringed from, the same as the days that came after.

Ever since Jaime was relieved from his vows and covered her shoulders with his cloak, he’d told her that she was safe with him. She was a Lannister now, he’d said, and the Lannisters never turned on one of their own. He wanted to cosset and protect her, treating her as if she were the same stupid, dreamy little girl. 

_“You’re mine.”_

Only as her husband guided her back against his side, tucking her head against his chest, Sansa knew that she was less than a Stark and more than a Lannister could ever dream to be. She was alone without her family, without her pack, the sweet lapdog that Jamie bought her nothing like the dire wolf she once loved.

She had no one and was beloved by none, while she was watched by all.

Sansa listened as Jaime whispered into her ear, describing things that would never be, and could never be. Her husband had forsaken his twin, but it made little difference to her.

She knew that her husband wasn’t hers, just as she knew that she would never have the heart of a lion nor would she adopt red and gold as her own. She was a wolf alone in the world, one that would make her own way.

_(She wouldn’t die in the South, unmourned and forgotten -)_

The world would know her name, her _true_ name. It was the name that would be engraved on her tomb, the same as it was engraved across her heart. 

_Sansa Stark_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	13. Theon x Sansa | Artist AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 2 of Inventober (created by @girlandgeese on Tumblr): Tableware
> 
> Based off the oft-repeated fact that Marie Antoinette modeled glassware after the shape of her chest - it's funny how this story seemed sleazy if it was Petyr/Sansa, but cute if it was Theon/Sansa (at least, I think so??? 💀🖤).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and supporting my work! I'm enjoying creating daily drabbles for Inventober - fingers crossed I'll have time to fulfill every prompt. Happy spooky month, and stay safe everyone. 🖤🤍

“I thought you were _japing_ , Theon!”

“Did you?” Theon asked, his lips curling upward. His wife was too easy to tease, and he felt a sudden urge to shower her with kisses. “I thought you _adored_ my avant-garde taste, my brilliant creations...” 

Nearly all of London knew the young sculptor, ever since Theon's remarkable debut. He'd created a terrible (or delightful, depending on who you asked) scandal when he made a bust of the King's mother.

It was remarkably lifelike, down to the lovely curve of her jaw, and the fearsome snarl across her lips. It was a slight the King’s mother couldn’t forgive, and he’d spent three weeks in the cells because of it.

And when he was freed, he was feted across society, with more orders than he could possibly accept. His favorite project was creating a sculpture of the Starks famed dire wolves, one that led him to lazy days spent at Winterfell, where he’d fallen in love with the sweetest member of the Stark family. Sansa was his darling wolf, one with sharp claws and gnashing teeth, and a heart cast from gold.

“I-I do,” Sansa said, her eyes narrowing. “But this – this is too much!”

He’d modeled their new glasses after the shape of her breast, a fact that he hadn’t hidden from her. How could he, when he wanted a permanent reminder of her? Sansa scowled as her husband chuckled, seeing as he was clearly amused by it all.

“Come now,” Theon murmured, pulling her close against him. His arms wound around her waist and he rested his cheek against her embroidered corset. “No one will notice sweetheart – “

There was no one else who knew how sweetly she cried when his fingers delved inside her, nor how she bucked against his hold. He often left his mark on her breast; his teeth nipping at the curve of her breast, and he traced her nipple with his tongue. She was lovelier than anyone would ever know, a fact that only he could revel in.

“Except for you!” Sansa exclaimed, the prettiest shade of pink emerging on her cheeks.

“Well,” Theon couldn’t hide his mirth at how innocent his wife was, despite celebrating her twenty second name day, “That _is_ the point, wife.”

Ever since they married, they were entwined around the other, during the night _and_ the day. Theon knew every part of her, lavishing her with teasing words and an arousing touch that she adored. And Sansa cherished him in turn, knowing firsthand there was more to him than anyone would ever see, let alone know besides her. 

Running her fingers through his dark curls, Sansa couldn't help but giggle. She couldn't imagine what her governess, let alone her mother, would think of her then, though she found she didn't care. "What am I to do with you?" she asked, and Theon tilted his head up toward her.

“Love me, of course,” he replied, any trace of arrogance absent from his voice.

“Always,” Sansa said, cradling his face in her hands. “I always will, Theon,” she paused for a moment, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Just keep Robb away from the glasses, and Bran and Rickon too. I couldn’t see them like that.”

Theon grinned, his dimples showing. "You have my word, sweet wife."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Simon, thank you! 🦝🖤


	14. Tywin/Sansa | Canon Divergence | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 6 of Inventober (created by @girlandgeese on Tumblr): Potion
> 
> A little late with this one but better late than never! This drabble has been sitting on my phone, and I decided to clean it up and expand it (along with adding hints of a love potion...if you squint). It has more angst than some of my other drabbles, though I think that's realistic of canon divergence tysan. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it! Please stay safe. 💜🤍

It was whispered that the Old Lion was a man undone for his wife.

‘ _Another Joanna_ ,’ a naive soul whispered. ‘ _Another Lady Lannister with a cunt made from gold.._.’

What else would prompt the Old Lion to cast away his grandson’s betrothal, and take his fiance as his own? For the Old Lion had spread his cloak across the frail girl’s shoulders despite Cersei’s anger, and the black mood that took hold of Joffrey.

For weeks Joffrey sulked and took every red-headed whore in King's Landing, leaving just as many slumped at his feet. He couldn't touch his new grandmother, as the Old Lion had tucked her away in the Hand's Tower, with Lannister guards at every door. They were unmoved by their king's tantrums, and even less so by the little coin, he could pour into their pocket.

“ _Joffrey has nothing_ ,” Tywin told his wife, “ _Nothing at all outside of what the Lannisters give him_.”

“ _The Lannisters hold King’s Landing_ ,” Sansa murmured.

Her husband grasped her chin in his hand, tilting her head up so her gaze met his. “ _The Lannisters hold the kingdom_ ,” he corrected her, “ _Everything you dream of seeing here is mine_.”

Only a fool would believe otherwise, regardless of who claimed the Iron Throne. 

Tywin would never be a knight from the stories, one that loved his wife and cherished their children. He was a harsh man, perhaps even a cruel one, yet he felt a flicker of annoyance at the way his wife cowered from him. He knew that many men believed breaking a horse in meant breaking their will. He had seen broken horses as they cantered into battle, and how without their master they faltered, and fled, or were struck down in a moment’s notice.

The horses that were obedient yet allowed to retain their spirit were a fitting match for the master that rode them. They were the steed that would rear at an enemy when their master fell, even if it meant sacrificing their lives for them. No, Tywin had never accepted having a deaf and dumb horse – a broken horse – the same as he wouldn’t accept a broken wife.

"The Maester said you refuse to eat," Tywin chided, as he came upon his wife. They shared the same quarters, as Tywin found he didn’t mind having his wife near. She was beautiful, true, the same as she was his. “Why?”

Resting her temple against the wooden pane, Sansa smiled, despite herself.

Her Lord Husband sounded like Arya.

Her younger sister had taunted and teased her when they were children when Sansa spurned sword fighting lessons for sewing and spent more time in the Godswood than she had at her lessons.

It was easy then, Sansa thought. They were all wolves – Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and herself – and they were a pack. They ran wild and free, no matter their septa's attempts to tame them, and they believed that nothing could tear them apart. Not marriage, or war, or distance, as the pack would always survive.

_Always_. 

Sansa's smile faded.

They had been wrong, so very wrong as their very bonds were used against them. She could hardly stand to write, her fingers shaking when she remembered the dreadful letter, she’d written her father. She thought it would assure her father, even change her father, when it had only changed everything for the worst –

The pack was torn apart.

Her pack, her family – the Starks were tossed forth and devoured by their circling predators. The Kraken and the Viper, the Stag and the Lion had their fill as their teeth gnashed, and their stomachs swelled.

Sansa knew she was the only wolf left, with her bastard brother lost to her, and Theon murdering her younger brothers. Arya had fled from King's Landing and Robb –

Sansa’s breath caught, as her stomach twisted.

When she dared to think of swallowing a morsel of food, the question often taunted her; had her brother eaten? Had her mother? Or had they just entered the room when they knew they were betrayed –

She choked on a sob, as tears trickled down her thin cheeks.

Tywin moved to sit behind his wife, curling his arms around her waist. She was the child that was never meant to be his, the sole remainder of her family. They were a sinful pair, a lone wolf, and a lion with a withering mane. He couldn't help but feel something for her as if someone had slipped pennyroyal and thistle into his wine, a combination often believed to replicate a love potion.

The silly fools, the useless cunts –

Tywin had little belief in magic, as he saw firsthand the magic that ran through the mad king’s veins. No, he far preferred logic, with its facts and its figures, and the sense that it made.

He had use for little else, he thought as he drew his cheek against his wife’s hair. She was someone that was unlike his children in every way, a girl that Cersei could have never imagined being, a girl that Jaime would have been amused by, and Tyrion would have wanted to save, like the whore Tysha.

She was a girl that was never meant for the likes of an old lion. Her father would have run her through with his sword before he allowed her to marry Tywin – though, with Ned's beloved honor, Tywin supposed it would have been Catelyn who wielded his sword instead. Neither Ned nor Catelyn had prepared Sansa for life at King's Landing, nor the position they believed she would have.

It was an oversight that Tywin had refused to make with his children, though he had little fortune with them. One was a whore, another a fool, and the last a drunk abomination –

‘Would they have better luck with their children,’ Tywin thought, as he thought of the seed, he often poured inside Sansa. Their heir would have the blood of kings within them, ones that came from indisputable, honorable lines.

No, Sansa would never be able to escape him. She was a Lannister, declared so the moment his cloak covered her shoulders, and she would remain so until she passed; whether in the birthing bed or with their grandchildren surrounding her.

She would never see the North nor feel snow on her skin again, and Tywin knew more than to allow her to roam loose throughout the palace, as she wandered through her dreams. He wanted to protect her and possess her, and make her see horrible, horrible things – the same as he wanted to hear her laughter and see tears of joy slip down her cheeks. He wanted everything from her, though he would voice nothing to her.

Sansa was his and yet she was not, for Tywin knew her thoughts carried her far away from him. He could hold her tightly, so tightly that there was little room for words between them, yet he couldn't hold her soul there.

He was a fool to even dream so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.journoportfolio.com/ 🌹
> 
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> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
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> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	15. Robb x Sansa | Canon AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 7 of Inventober (created by @girlandgeese on Tumblr): Armor
> 
> Oop, I'm a little behind with Inventober! My finals are this week and then I get a week off - I'm trying to finish my finals before this Tuesday, so I can have almost two weeks off. I'll have plenty of time to write then, as well as take care of projects that have been piling up! 
> 
> This pairing may not be for everyone, and I completely understand. I found kingandqueeninthenorth's work a few days ago, and fell in utter love with her robbsa stories - they're tender and harsh and utterly perfect. I wanted to try my hand at writing the pairing, and using 'armor' in an abstract way. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and supporting my work! I'm so grateful to be able to share my work with you all, and hope that you're doing well. Stay safe, stay in, and read fanfic! 💜🤍

Sansa was his home.

His sweet sister, his beautiful and brave sister was the only one that he wore nothing before. He came to her as naked as a babe, and she had yet to turn him away.

“Robb,” she would whisper, guiding him into the sanctuary of her arms.

She was as broken as he was mad, the court whispered. For the Young Wolf had turned the tide of the war through faith in the Old Gods alone and lived to walk through the Red Keep, claiming the South as his own. His laughter filled the halls as he saw the Lannisters strung before the windows, to the swollen crowds below.

They wanted a Stark, the public decided, one that was as honorable and true as his father. His coronation day was gladly welcomed, and when the crown was placed on his dark curls, he declared that he would rule justly, and alone.

His advisors soon learned that their northern king spoke the truth, for he entertained no offers for a betrothal, nor would he agree that an heir was needed. " _I am young_ ,” Robb declared, as foolish as the golden-haired prince that reigned before him.

Or was he?

For he never voiced the words that lingered on his tongue; “ _And my sister is younger still_.”

Sansa was the only woman that he loved, the only one he could see as his queen. She was a wolf just as much as he was, and Grey Wind often lounged at her feet or carried along beside her. The court watched and they listened to her, with the respect they had never had under Joffrey's reign –

And their king, the Young Wolf, allowed it no other way.

“I love you,” Robb whispered, and he warmed at the sight of her fleeting smile. Sansa sighed as she tangled her fingers through his hair and offered her breast to him. He was the only one who knew her body, he was the only one that would never hurt her.

He was the only one that would ever love her.

He laved at her nipple before urging it into his mouth, suckling as if he were a babe. “ _I only feel alive when I’m with you_ ,” Sansa admitted after he moved his quarters next to hers. He refused for them to be apart, as he bathed and dressed her as if he were her maid. He willingly sank to his knees for her, as she allowed him closer than she allowed anyone, including their mother.

He saw the scars that covered her soul, the ones that dripped and festered as f they were made from tar. They were scars that someone as gentle as his sister should have never known. They were the kind of scars a boy could expect on his name day that saw him off to fight in his first war.

“ _A beating for every victory of yours_ – “

They were words he never forgot, as he vomited into his chamber pot.

There was a crackling, black rage in his heart and sorrow in his bones, and Robb often dreamed of digging up Joffrey from his shallow grave, if only to hang him once more. His rage leaped at the thought of their mother and their father – why had they ever thought Sansa could survive in the South? She was a lone wolf amidst the court, as unprepared and unwanted as a kitchen wench with her Lord’s child inside her. 

_Why, why, why_ –

Robb knew that he faltered when he was away from his sister, his thoughts unraveling, and cruel words rising to his tongue. He held them still, never confronting their mother nor the ghost of their father.

Honor was a vice as much as it was a virtue, Robb learned.

He laid beside his sister and read her the stories she once loved, one of dragons and brave knights who saved the ones they loved. They were stories with happy endings, stories that he wished had proven true for all the Starks.

Only it hadn't – it wouldn't – and Robb never allowed himself to believe otherwise. He remembered the families that abandoned the North during the war, the same as he honors the ones who remained at his side. Under his rule, their enemies wither, and their allies rise, though Robb never forgot that one could easily turn into the other. 

Nor did he forget his declaration that Sansa would never leave their family again. He refused to arrange a marriage for her or invite lords to his court – his sister often had nightmares that left him running to her door, before they shared the same quarter. He won’t see her ruined again; her body marred, and her spirit broken for the North.

Robb decided instead that Sansa may birth children with a wolf as their sire or take her pick from the orphans that litter Flea Bottom if she desired. She would have the life that she wanted, even if it wasn’t the one she had dreamed of as a girl. She would have a pack again, starting with the lapdog that he gave her; a pretty spaniel with wide eyes and a silk coat, that she christened True Heart.

Only the past can’t be undone.

“ _The Lannisters ruined me_ ," Sansa had cried into his arms, the same as when they were children, and Theon teased her mercilessly, " _I allowed them to, Robb, I wasn’t brave like Arya was_ – “

She had never tried to run away –

She hadn’t saved their father, no, she had caused his very downfall –

And the thought of Lady, her sweet, and devoted Lady, made her face crumple, and tears stream down her gaunt cheeks. There were bruises that littered her skin, and Robb had run the Maester through for not treating her during the previous reign, the cursed reign –

The great families learned to bend the knee before their new king.

The Young Wolf – with his sister beside him, adorned in pretty silks, and soft furs.

Their love wasn’t sick nor was it twisted as the relationship between Cersei and her brother was. Their love was whole and right, Robb whispered as he held her close to him. It was what they wanted, and what they deserved.

She was his home, more so then Winterfell was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
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> Beta'd by Grammarly and Metalvenomludens7! 🦝🖤


	16. Jaime & Sansa | Canon AU | T | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little drabble to say I'm alive and working through my writer's block - - - 
> 
> I hope that you're all safe and well. 💕 Thank you for reading!

“Lady Sansa.”

“Ser Jaime.”

He tilted his head toward her, as she bobbed a pretty curtsy. It was exact and precise, the kind that he imagined his mother would have taught Cersei, had she lived. 

Neither said anything more as Jamie moved aside, allowing the girl to continue down the empty corridor. 

She was nothing to him; a child of winter cast to the lions who roamed the summer court, and she was utterly alone. Her dire wolf was killed, as was her father.

She had little more than her courtesies and her solemn expression to offer; with her name ruined, and her lineage freely mocked. She was worth less than a kingslayer, or loyal hunting bitch that came to heel. Who, in the whole of King’s Landing, would ever wish to befriend her?

(He would – if he were an honorable boy, and not a besotted man.)

‘ _A little bird_ ,’ Cersei often called her, ‘ _always chirping and dragging her broken wings across the ground_.’

No, Sansa Stark was nothing to him.

(Regardless of how he favored the sound of his name on her lips.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.journoportfolio.com/ 🌹
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> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	17. Robb x Sansa | Canon AU | T | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to make this longer when I have time...💕
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)

Gently, Robb ran his fingers through his sister’s hair.

He hadn’t been able to stay away from Sansa, ever since she was ransomed from the Red Keep. He would trade Jaime Lannister a thousand times over, if it meant the return of his sister –

_Either_ sister.

“Arya will come back,” Sansa murmured, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. She was the same and she was new; a woman that had turned to steel in their time apart. “She’ll come _home_ , Robb, to us. To Winterfell. There’s nowhere else she would ever go.”

Neither mention the dreams Arya had, as she begged every visitor at Winterfell to tell her their stories; of the places they’d seen, the creatures they’d slain, and everything in-between. She was a wolf in her heart, one that was as wild and brittle as Nymeria when she wished, and nothing would hold her.

“I know,” he said, the falsity bitter on his tongue.

If Arya had been with Sansa, and the Lannisters had asked him to choose which sister would be returned, he wouldn’t have been able to decide. He would have run himself through with his sword first, rather than tear his family apart, more than it already was.

He wasn’t brave like their father, he wasn’t honorable –

He’d swiftly learned that fact with the onset of war.

“Soon, your husband will do this for you,” Robb said, as he gathered her hair back and began to weave it into a thick braid. He knew how his sister liked it, and he was pleased too, as she returned to her northern roots.

She was a child made from ice, one born as the wolves howled and the spirits of the North cried for salvation; the same as he was. The same as all their siblings were.

(None of them were Sansa, with the scent of jasmine and honey clinging to her furs, and hurt in her eyes -)

He couldn’t forget her, he never could.

“ _Robb_ –“Sansa stiffened beneath his touch but said nothing more.

“He will be a northern lord, one loyal to our house, and honorable,” Robb swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Still, he forced the words through. He had to. “Gentle. Kind.”

The kind of man their father would have chosen for her, had he not bent to the Baratheon will. The Starks were never meant to live in the south, with their scorching sun and the bitter double entendre that dripped from their words. 

She knew her place, the same as her brother knew his. They had no place beside one another, outside the freedom of childhood, for they had to serve their house.

Their pack.

(Only in their hearts, could they howl for one another.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	18. Petyr/Sansa | Vamp AU | M | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spooks, treats, and yummy eats...
> 
> Happy Halloween everyone! 🎃🖤🧡

“More?” Petyr teased, easing his love away from his neck.

She was a vision without measure, her fire-kissed hair gleaming as it sprawled down her back, and the dazed look in her eyes. He’d taken his love as his own, the mark of his teeth stark against her porcelain skin.

She was his to protect and his to hold.

His to feed, as she had never tasted mortal blood. She’d turned white at the thought of drinking from a boy and had begged him for another way.

( _There was another option, of course_.)

Only his blood, her Sire’s, could quench her thirst, and he willingly gave her all that he had to give, until she was a sleepy, little kitten. The heady scent of her arousal filled the air, and Petyr hid the curl of his lips from her.

If Petyr believed in souls, he thought theirs would be entwined, for the moment that he saw her, he knew that he wouldn’t let her go.

He would offer her everything that he had to give, and everything that he couldn’t, for he knew that he would find a way to give her the world.

( _He remembered still, when their kind was worshiped and adored, instead of hunted and feared. He was once a god, his name feted, and his image glorified. He wished for her to know the same_.)

“Sweetling,” he encouraged, his voice a low hum. “Won’t you tell me the truth?”

“Petyr…” her tongue darted out, licking at the crimson that dotted her lip.

“Don’t tease me – _please_ ,” she mewled as he allowed her close once more, with his arm wrapped tight around her waist. She was too sweet, too precious, her fangs gently sinking into his neck; as if he hadn’t known enough pain for a thousand lifetimes.

( _He ached for her to devour him whole_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	19. Willas/Sansa | Canon Divergence | G | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something longer but my inspiration said differently...so, ah, please enjoy this little ficlet! 💕

Lady was the most exquisite creature Willas had ever known.

His wife beamed when he told her so as she brushed her dire wolf's thick fur. " _I’m glad you think so, my Lord_ ,” Sansa whispered, “ _She’s my heart, and my soul_ ,” a truth that existed for every Stark. 

The dire wolf was never far from his wife's side, often laying at her feet while she sewed or trotting alongside her when she spent afternoons in the garden. Willas often watched the pair from his study, noting how small they both seemed. He knew the nature of King’s Landing and marveled they both had survived it, with the mad family that ruled it.

He knew the scars that littered his wife’s slight frame, the same as he had traced his fingers across the scars that littered Lady. The dire wolf was beaten the same as her owner; neither spared the King’s _attentions_. It was curious the dire wolf never shied from him, as she nosed his pocket for the treats he kept there and allowed him to lean against her when his leg faltered. “Thank you,” he’d murmur, while Lady whined in turn.

Lady wore no heavy collar, instead proudly bearing one made from silk and pressed flowers. Sansa took little credit for her wolf’s sweet nature, insisting that she was always that way – though Willas saw how his steed and his hunting hounds took to his wife, eagerly following her will.

His own, favored hound was a snappish creature, one that snapped and snarled yet lay docile beneath his wife’s hands. Sansa was more than he imagined, as sweet and lovely as she was curious and headstrong. She pleased him more with every passing day, and Willas found himself hoping she felt the same - 

His sweet wife deserved happiness, far more than he ever had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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End file.
